


Naked with the Bees

by emungere



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am familiar with the clitoris.” </p>
<p>She smiled. “Then you’re already doing better than some of the blokes I’ve slept with. Do you want to kiss me?” </p>
<p>“Not especially.”</p>
<p>“Well, what do you want, you incredibly odd man?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked with the Bees

**Author's Note:**

> For Chrissy - sorry it took like six months and then I made you beta it too. ilu!

Sherlock pounded on the door of the cottage and then gave it a kick. He heard footsteps, a clatter of something knocked over, small wooden table. The crash as something on its surface hit the ground a second later. China or porcelain. Tea or coffee. Janine always drank coffee.

She yanked the door open. The sheet wrapped around her shoulders trailed behind her. It had caught the leg of a wooden stool. Not table. Always something.

"What the bleeding fuck are you doing here, Sherlock Holmes?" she said.

He pushed past her. "I need to think."

"You think better in Sussex?"

"Did you get rid of the bees? Don't get rid of the bees."

"They're my bees. I'll do what I like with them."

He threw himself down on her sofa.

She closed the front door and came to stand over him.

"You don't normally sleep naked," he said.

"Normally, I lived with a flatmate, or with my sisters, or with my mum. This is the new normal. Normally, in the new normal, madmen don't knock me up at half five in the morning, and I can dance naked with bees if I like."

"Do you?"

"I might."

"They communicate through dance, you know. Aristotle was the first to document it. Fascinating creatures."

Janine sighed. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Black, no sugar."

She whipped her hand out like the strike of a snake, pinched his nose, and held it tight. He tried to rear back, but her grip was firm, and all he did in the end was bat ineffectually at her arm.

"Ow, what are you doing, you appalling woman!" It came out high and nasal and undignified.

“Acceptable responses include yes please, no thank you, and can I help. Black no sugar isn’t on the list.” 

She let go. He turned his face to the back of the sofa and scrunched his eyes closed. She sat on him. 

“Get off!” 

“I would’ve married you, you know. You insufferable twat.” 

He stopped trying to shove her off and looked up at her. “Would you really?”

“Yes. I liked you.” 

“I’m an excellent actor.” 

“You’re actually not. You weren’t acting most of the time. When you were, it was a bit awful, but I thought you were just nervous.” 

“Some things have happened. A lot of things. Have happened.” 

She sighed. “Go out and look at the beehives. I’m going to go back to sleep. When you’re done, you can either leave or wake me up.” 

“All right.” 

She got off of him. He went outside and strolled over the low swells of ground around the cottage, too civilized even to be called hills. He sat on a rock. He watched the bees enter and leave the hives, noted flight patterns and particular types of flowers. He knew very few of their names. It had never seemed like useful information. It would be useful right now. 

Hard yellow sun in a hard blue sky with the incessant green of the grass all around. He longed for London and its vertical spaces and reflective surfaces, but in London he had felt caught by the prism of his own mind. Too many reflections. Too many views on the events of the recent past. He went back into the house.

Upstairs, he paused in the doorway of the bedroom and then crossed to the bed. He shook Janine’s shoulder. She grunted and flapped a hand at him. 

“Coffee,” she said. “Black, no sugar.”

“I thought that wasn’t an acceptable response.” 

“For people who fake propose to me, it’s not. I didn’t fake propose to me. Go.” 

“I don’t know how to work your coffee machine. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” 

“It has instructions printed on the the inside of the flappy thing you lift to put the stuff in.” 

He went. He made coffee. It seemed simpler than anything else he might reasonably do with his day. He brought two mugs back upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed. 

Janine sat up. The sheets fell away and bared her breasts. She curled protectively around her coffee as if she hadn’t noticed. Sherlock looked at them, the pale skin and darker pink-brown around the nipples.

“Are you here for sex?” Janine asked. 

“I don’t know. Does that seem likely?”

“I can’t think why else you would’ve come.”

“Nor can I. We’re not friends, are we?”

She rested her chin on her knees. “We could be. What is it about you, Sherlock Holmes? People forgive you the most awful things.” 

John forgave him. But that was because John was John, and John was a good man and incapable of hurting anyone too much, even people who hurt him. 

“I don’t know,” he said. 

Janine took his mug and set it on the bedside table. “Why don’t you get undressed and we’ll fuck and you can see if it helps.” 

Since he’d tried literally everything else, it seemed like a reasonable suggestion. He took off his clothes, folded them, and set them on a chair. She tugged him down to lie next to her. 

“You’ve really never done this?” she said. 

“Really.” 

“Well, fortunately, it’s not that complicated, and I assume you know how all the bits work.” 

“I am familiar with the clitoris.” 

She smiled. “Then you’re already doing better than some of the blokes I’ve slept with. Do you want to kiss me?” 

“Not especially.”

“Well, what do you want, you incredibly odd man?” 

He cupped one breast with a glance at her for permission. She smiled at him and touched his hair when he bent to take the nipple into his mouth. 

“That’s nice,” she said. “Bit harder.” 

He sucked harder, used his teeth lightly, and touched the soft skin of her stomach, the curve of her hip. She wriggled a little, in what he took as encouragement. It was strange. He’d seen her naked, seen several women naked and an an unending supply of boys when he’d been at school. He’d drawn conclusions from those observations, as was his habit. He hadn’t expected touch and taste to make such an impact. Foolish, perhaps. He was seldom content to judge an unknown substance with his eyes alone.

Janine sighed softly as he stroked down her stomach and between her thighs. He could feel heat between her legs, but he didn’t touch there, not yet. He moved over to tongue her other nipple, and she slid a hand into his hair and held him there. 

“Good?” he asked, mouth filled with the taste of her skin, nose with the warmth of her body and yesterday’s perfume. 

“Good,” she agreed, and spread her legs so that he fit between them, so that he could feel heat and faint dampness against his stomach. 

He was hard, and that was almost a surprise. Erections were something he took care of on his own, pleasurable, but a solitary activity. He wasn’t sure how he felt about sharing one with another person. It _was_ faintly alarming when he thought about it. Damn Mycroft anyway. 

“You really are lovely,” Janine said, on a sigh. “I think you’re prettier than me, which is almost offensive. Look up at me, let me see your eyes.” 

She tugged at his hair, and he looked up. She slid her finger over his lower lip, wet from sucking at her. She pressed down on his shoulder. It took him a moment to get the idea, but when he did, it was a relief. Yes, more licking, more sucking, more _tasting_. That seemed far easier to deal with than the idea of orgasms in company. 

He slid down her body, kissed her stomach and then the soft skin in the dip of her hipbones until she giggled and tugged his hair. 

“Stop, will you? It tickles. Anyway, you’re headed farther down than that.”

He licked between her legs, and she settled back against the bed with a long sigh. He liked that, like the way the tension went out of her. It had been like that sometimes when they kissed, and though he hadn’t especially liked the kisses, he’d liked the way she softened against him. It wasn’t a response he usually inspired in people. 

The taste was unfamiliar, not quite sweet nor salty, elements of acidity but that was to be expected. Unique. Unlikely to be helpful in his work, but perhaps, like the names of flowers, still worth knowing. He licked up over her clitoris. Her legs tightened around him. He put his hand on the back of her thigh and pushed it up and back to give himself more room. 

He kept working at her, tracing the contours of her flesh with his lips and tongue, so fully absorbed that he didn’t notice the slick wetness on his chin until she reached down and ran her fingers over it. 

“God, that’s lovely,” she said, voice lower now and softer. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” 

He didn’t stop. He surprised himself by not wanting to stop, though his jaw ached after a time and his face was wet with her and his tongue was tired. Her reactions provided endless fascination: sighs and hitched breaths and her tiny squirming movements as he found a sensitive spot. 

He found them all and worked them over and over until she was grinding up against his mouth and he had to pin her hips down. It was easy. She wasn’t large or particularly strong, and it was a simple thing to hold her there and give her pleasure until she couldn’t take any more. 

Her thighs squeezed around him, and she was saying his name in a low, tight voice. She shuddered, and he could feel it when she came. 

She looked down at him, and he looked up at her. 

" _Please_ can I kiss you?" she said. 

"All right." 

She pulled him up until he lay over her, and now the soft wet heat of her mouth seemed not that different from what he had just been doing. She sighed against him and licked his lower lip clean, and his chin. His hands tightened involuntarily on her shoulders. 

"Yeah," she said softly. "Come on. Hold me down a little. You liked that. Hold me down and fuck me. Do you want to?" 

"Is that— Is it all right?" 

She kissed his cheek and handed him a condom. "It’s all right if I say it’s all right. Go on." 

He rolled on the condom with a sense of distance and detachment that instantly shattered when he started to slide into her. Reality came surging back, and once again it seemed like madness to do this with anyone else, to do it where anyone could see him. His hands clenched hard around her wrists and then he forced himself to let go entirely. 

"It’s okay," she said. She lay sprawled out under him, utterly relaxed, arms bent and hands level with her face where he had been holding them. Her hair spread out around her like the frame of a painting or the darkness of a long tunnel with a single point of light at the end of it. 

He held her hands instead. It seemed safer. After the first thrust, he was lost. No chance of stopping. It felt revelatory. He lasted, at best, three minutes. 

"I understand that’s bad form," he said afterward, breathless. "Sorry."

She hugged him close and smiled against his neck. "I’ve had worse. You’ll do better next time."


End file.
